Day #280

Mary Carver says it so well...
Transformation — whether we’re talking about a house or a heart — is not a pretty process. True rehabilitation, true change only happens when the old, crumbling, moldy, and rusty parts are stripped away, revealing the naked truth underneath. Because it’s only when we are elbow-deep in mud and muck that we can see the strong, shining bones below on which we can build something beautiful.

It can be tempting to put too much emphasis on the “after” part of a transformation. Sure, everyone loves chanting, “Move! That! Bus!” and seeing the big reveal at the end of a home improvement show. And it is absolutely inspiring to read about someone’s triumph over adversity, the hero who (reportedly) used to be an underdog.

But when we are only willing to direct our gaze on the after pictures, we’re missing the hard-fought beauty of that behind-the-scenes battle. We’re missing out on the chance to more fully understand the sacrifice that led to the victory, to more completely appreciate the reward that only came as a result of the work. And we’re missing the whole truth about who we are and how vast the gap between “before” and “after” truly is.

“And I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns.”
{Philippians 1:6}

It took me a while, but I realize now that the day my neighbor’s house was at its ugliest and messiest was actually the most amazing one of its entire transformation. Because without that day, I couldn’t possibly appreciate its new siding and shutters and landscaping and front porch light. Unless I face the destruction, I can’t understand the magnitude of the recreation.

This truth is no different when it comes to the stories we tell about our lives. When I wait until I’ve “got it all together” to talk about my [past] struggles, I’m robbing God of the opportunity to shine through my ugliness and my mess. I’m leaving out the most important part of any message I’m called to share when I am too proud or too afraid to let others walk with me through a transformation.

When my house is falling apart, THAT is the time to open up and share my story. Not later. Not when I get it figured out. Not when I’ve painted and polished and perfected it all. If I waited for that day, I’d never have a story to tell, for we are all in constant change, constant sharpening and growing and transforming. So when our houses are falling apart, that is the day we should look up and meet our neighbor’s eyes. Doing this will undoubtedly help us be more patient, more gentle — with each other and with ourselves. And it will certainly reveal to us the true beauty of transformation.